Meine Erlösung
by VictorianCaul
Summary: Comicverse. Just because he was disembodied didn’t mean his life had reached its conclusion.


Meine Erlösung

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: All characters are copyright Mike Mignola and Dark Horse Comics.

Summary: Comicverse. Just because he was disembodied didn't mean his life had reached its conclusion.

Author's Notes: Based on the Comic Universe, a follow-up on _The Ectoplasmic Man._ I apologize for any grammatical errors. Thank you to all who reviewed and/or put my last story on their favorites.

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At first, he believed the appropriate punishment to be dissipation. How could he not feel pity for the Wagners who had been killed during the séance, and how could he not feel guilt for having been the one who led their souls into the spiritual domain, where a psychic disturbance ruined any hope of them achieving peace in the holy infinite? No, Johann Kraus was a man who accepted the consequences of his actions. Why should he move on and achieve eternal peace while those people could not? How would he be able to face God? It wouldn't be fair, and it wouldn't be right.

What Johann wanted, more than eternal peace or dissipation, was redemption.

He had desperately wanted to save the man in the cemetery, help him move onto Heaven or Hell, wherever his soul may have led. It would have reaffirmed his worth as a medium; it would have been his salvation for what his séance had caused during the Chengdou incident. But he had been unable to save the man. His words, while a comfort for the living trying to communicate with their lost loves, had been of no console to the poor lost soul. The words of Wieland Lorst had been more magnetic, the false hope that the dead could return and be flesh once again.

The events in that rickety house would not so quickly leave Kraus' mind.

During his time as a medium, Johann had come across various sorts of spirits and specters. Many were like the man in the cemetery, ghosts who didn't know they were dead or were restless from leaving their lives so abruptly. Some had not been pleasant people during their lifetimes, but they shared the same despair as the others, and that disparity fueled Johann with the desire to be their guide into the netherworld. Never, however, had Johann Kraus been witness to a monster. Never, until he met Wieland Lorst that night.

Wieland Lorst fed on the soul of the man from the cemetery, just as he did on all ghosts he invited into his house. He was the worst sort of murderer, a creature who executed the already departed. Feelings of helplessness and fault swept through Johann, just as they had since the consequences of the séance. Provided the means to exact revenge on Lorst, he hadn't the capability to even take hold of the weapon. He was without a body, and unable to keep hold on anything in the physical plane. There, in Wieland Lorst's house, Johann realized the truth of it all: he truly was an abomination, a man forever caught between the worlds of the living and dead. A man who belonged in neither.

Johann Kraus couldn't allow Wieland Lorst to continue preying on the weak souls of the newly dead. There would be no redemption in allowing his spiritual form to dissipate. He wouldn't let his guilt consume his capability to still do good for the dead. He was a medium once, and he wouldn't forget how he promised to use his gift.

He hadn't expected the suit to be as comfortable as it was. There was nothing complex in its design, and it didn't try to mimic and replace a real body. Rubber containment, a glass head. Very simple in design, but how cathartic it was just the same. More significantly, he was corporeal, again. He could lift and hold things, shake people's hands, and stand on his feet. It wasn't the same, to be certain. The bulky gloves were limited in their sense of touch. Scolding iron was no hotter than an ice box. He was now beyond the petty needs of sleep and consumption. With the loss of them, however, he had also lost the experiences of taste and dreams.

For Johann, this was initially startling. It was impossible to describe, the feeling of being without all five senses intact. He could talk without a mouth, hear without ears, and see without eyes. But the suit came at the expense of taste and touch. He would learn to live with that, being an incomplete human being. Ever since being a boy, it was not as though he actually could ever have called himself normal. The sixth sense, his gift, had been what made him unique. That remained, after the loss of his form. No, he could get used to this suit. The more time he spent in it, and quicker he realized that this was who he was. It was pointless to mourn the loss of his flesh, for it seemed his condition would forever remain permanent.

But what would happen to him? The Bureau had been so kind in allowing him to test their suit, and it had worked wonderfully. At first he imagined he could return to Heidelberg, or perhaps even Munich, to reinstate his profession as a spiritualist. Johann learned quickly that few were so apt to trust him with his talent after the Chengdou incident. After seeing the fate of the Wagner's and Johann's own body, people turned to others to meet their contacting needs.

"How can you ask us to take such a risk, Herr Kraus?" one woman had asked him when he'd returned to his home for a day. His physical appearance obviously disturbed her, and he understood her nervous cynicism. "How can you guarantee anyone what you promise now? Look at you. You're not even a man, anymore."

This left Johann concerned. If he could not be a medium, what was his place in the world?

The men at the Bureau's German branch showed him. "See what you can do with this," they had instructed, presenting him with a dead bird. Johann, still new and uncertain of what he was, surprised even his self by what he was capable of doing. He could guide his own ectoplasm into the bird, provide it a spiritual shape. It wasn't alive, but it could sing again. It could sing its tale and express its life through his temporary support. He could give it a physical form, and something in him was thrilled by how his gift had evolved. He hadn't experienced a connection so strong.

It was evident: just because he was disembodied didn't mean his life had reached its conclusion. There had to be a reason God chose to keep his ghost past the loss of his body. He could still help the dead, and that gave him a reason to keep looking for his redemption, his salvation.

Doktor Izar Hoffman seemed to understand his plight. The psychic had suggested moving to the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense in the United States to join a group of fellow unique beings, a group who understood what it was like to be different. The good man spoke on the likes of Hellboy, of Abe Sapien, Liz Sherman, and the Homunculus Roger. Each had a talent that set them apart from normal people. His powers would best be an asset with them, Doktor Hoffman had said. Johann Kraus agreed. He couldn't continue being a medium in Heidelberg, but a new life in the States had many opportunities and potential excitements. He was looking forward to the adventure, and it would certainly be an appropriate settlement to the shock that had become his life.

But before he could start a new life, he had to be like the countless souls before him and tie loose ends to his past. He had one stop to make before catching the plane to the States.

That night, the house was as welcoming to specters as it had been his first visit. It had false hospitality. To compliment the shaky foundation, stepping inside was like stepping into a level of Hell: An evil house. Pickled jars containing God only knew what aligned the shelves with books of unholy material. Death and its artifacts decorated the tables, and pictures of nameless faces stared from the walls. The monster that lived inside was as fat and appalling as ever. He sat at his table, flipping idly through the pages of one book without paying his visitor much mind. Johann stood erect in front of the door's entrance way, removing his fedora before announcing his presence. "Wieland Lorst. I am Johann Kraus, if you remember…."

"Oh," Wieland interrupted, not looking up from his book. His plump, purple face slid up in a smile. "I didn't see you step in, Great Medium." Sarcasm aligned his voice, just as it had the previous time they had spoken. The respect he had for Johann was limited to the fact that he seemed to be the only sort of soul he couldn't consume. "I had hoped we wouldn't meet, again, but curiosity will be the death of us all, yes?"

"I do not return out of curiosity. I've come to see you punished."

He yawned into his hand absent-mindedly, bored already with the conversation. "Still lamenting over that lost soul, Herr Kraus? Go, you silly spirit."

This time, Johann stepped to the other end of the table, defiantly. "I will not leave until you face God for your sins."

"Your threats are as hollow as ever, Kraus." Lorst closed his book, and looked at his guest properly for the first time since he'd entered the house. "Ah, you look different this time," he noted, not sounding particularly impressed with what he saw. His body leaned heavily in the chair, and he crossed his fingers together with conceit. "What sort of creature are you now? A spirit masquerading as a living man? Does your anger really make you linger this long, Medium? What are those other ghosts to you? Your words can't help them anymore. Why not ascend beyond and be done with this all? You have enough control over your fate. Move on now."

"I _do_ have control in my fate now, and I will not allow you to prey on the souls who don't. You are damned!"

Wieland sighed, and waved the spiritualist off with his hand like he was an annoying fly. "Eh. I give each soul a choice; you've seen this, Medium. I forced that spirit into my house no more than I did you. He chose my invitation, just as you have willingly returned. I don't presume to interfere with fate."

"You still lie to the weak!" Johann pointed, accusingly, at the hefty man as anger swelled heavily through him. "You take away their infinity, forever separate them from their eternal life…." He stopped, catching his own words. They left him bewildered. Separating souls from the holy infinite. He saw in this creature, this demonic entity, what he saw in his own troubles. His sins manifested, provided form for him to confront.

He could see now that what he had done had truly been an accident, beyond his control. This thing hunted souls for consumption, purposely divided spirits from their peace. It had to be stopped. "It is my duty to see souls through to the next world. I cannot allow you to continue what you do." He leapt over to the wooden cupboard and flung its doors opened. He expected Wieland Lorst to try and stop him, but the monster laughed in his seat. He surely must have known what he was trying to retrieve, but still perceived him as no threat. Johann paid his insolence no mind, and found what he wanted. Great Father Deuteronomy Sassacus' silver bullet, blessed by Pope Gregory XVI. Lorst had been so mocking to offer it to him his previous visit, when the spirit hadn't been able to hold the gun.

His movements were awkward, loading the gun with unwieldy fingers. Fortunately, he was fueled by something more powerful than patience. This was what he needed to do before he could move on in his world. "Are you going to kill me now, Herr Kraus?" asked Wieland, taunting the medium with more callous laughter. His smile flashed fast to a disturbed scowl as he heard the revolver lock. The silver bullet was loaded, and he now faced down the barrel of the gun. "You have but one shot. You're certain in your aim, Medium?"

For an instant, Johann caught himself wondering whether or not Lorst wanted to be killed, if he somehow wished to move on from the living world himself. Hell's creatures felt no remorse, showed no fear, yet Wieland did not move. Then again, perhaps he really did see no threat in the spiritualist's actions. Either way, what would it matter? Johann was able to place his hand around the revolver, and take aim. He never claimed to be an excellent marksman, because he only had the little experience gathered from shooting cans as a small lad. However, Wieland Lorst was a large target, and for whatever his reasoning, the hulking creature wouldn't move.

It was God who had saved Johann Kraus from the fate of Wagners, and it would be through God's grace that he hit his mark.

It was his salvation.

The impact had been instant, no slow dramatics or cursed words. The bullet wedged in Lurst's thick chest, and the creature clutched the area in instinctive rage. He roared as an animal would, and his form melded and changed back into its true form. Massive in size, his jaw once more became an engulfing hole, sucking in any nearby books, knick knacks and whatever wasn't secured tightly in its spot. Johann thought he would have to run, that his new body wouldn't be able to resist against the pulling force, but Wieland Lurst calmed as the wound seeped blood.

Suddenly, a bright light erupted from the bullet, and the demon's nature calmed like a great storm did during its eye. God's light melted his skin and flesh, and the bubbling mass drained to the floor in unequaled grotesqueness. It was something Johann Kraus had never seen the likes of before in his life.

"Well delivered, Great Medium."

The hinges whined as the door opened, and Johann glanced from the newspaper he had picked up from the table. A woman, small and blonde, stepped inside. "Mr. Kraus?" she asked, prompting him to stand politely to his feet. This was the person Director Manning had told him to be expecting, the one who would introduce him to his teammates. "Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Kate Corrigan."

She extended her hand, and he accepted it, like a gentleman. "There is no problem, Miss Corrigan," he responded in English. "And please to call me Johann." Life was full of unexpected turns, and some surprises were more pleasing than others. Johann Kraus was willing to accept that life for him was going to become much more invigorating.

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End file.
